


Lachrymose

by ohhstark



Series: Forged From the After [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, these two are going to murder me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-08 09:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6848410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhstark/pseuds/ohhstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She looks out and she feels the weight of all that she has lost settle on her shoulders, in the space between her ribs, in her lion’s heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Nora looks out at the horizon. She looks out and she feels the weight of all that she has lost settle on her shoulders, in the space between her ribs, in her lion’s heart. She wants to scream and cry and rage, but she has nothing in her. She does nothing. And somehow, that is worse. The inability to articulate how much she is hurting twists her lungs and she cannot breathe. She cannot _breathe_. It is caught, snagged on the tatters of her old life. Her husband dead. Her son as good as for all that she knows where to start looking for him. Her grip on reality is tenuous at best. 

She is standing, then she is folding into herself in the dirt. She digs into the soil and feels so removed from the grit under her nails and the warmth of the sun clinging to the rocks and the breeze rustling the dead leaves at her back. 

“Nora?”

Strange how that voice slips in; beautiful and terrible as her first breath of air in this wasted era. It tears and bites and claws at her. It is all she can do to gasp around the pain. She tries to push him from her mind, but it is one thing to hear him and another entirely to _feel_ him. 

His hands cradle her head and the tender, sensitive skin on the backs of her knees. Her eyes fall closed as he gathers her to his chest.

She can imagine the look on his face and that hurts too. The furrow between his arched brows. The sorrowful understanding in his all-too-human eyes. The deep-set downturn of his lips. It all hurts so God damned much. But she doesn’t know how to stop. Stop the hurting. Hurting. Stop. 

“Nora.” 

There is nothing terrible about Nick now as he presses his lips to her hair. As his hands bend around the dips of her body. And she realizes what he is doing when life returns to her again, when feeling returns. He is grounding her. It’s impossible to believe that this might be the dream when his touches burn so. No dream could ever compare to this. 

She turns into him and grips at his waist. Nora clings to him. And the memories, the hurt, the regret...they linger. But her shoulders feel lighter, her heart does not beat so loud, and she can breathe again. 

She feels the smile in her hair and the rumble of his voice on her cheek.

“Welcome back to the Land of the Living.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reality is this. It is Nora, standing, hard and ungiving against the horizon. It is Nora and her steel facade yielding at last to unspeakable grief.

If there was ever any doubt how he felt, this moment would mark him for the fool he is. He knows how impossible it seems. He is a man, but he isn't in all the ways that count. All exposed wires and hard drives and servos whirring. All memories and habits and ticks that are, and _aren't_ his own. He cannot forget who he is, _what_ he is. He lacks many things. Things that matter. Things that make him altogether different and other. He lacks a true heart, but he can feel. He can feel and he can love and it’s all a little too far beyond him _how_. 

He loves Ellie. His faithful assistant who buys him a tie for Christmas and a tie for his birthday, without fail. Ellie with her fierce desire to help those in need and her subtle sense of humor. 

He loves Hancock. Hancock with his easy smile and his quips and playful jibes. Hancock with his ages-old getup and his dreams for a better world. Maybe it says more about himself than he’d care to admit, but Hancock has never held being a Synth against him. Not once in all the years they’ve known each other. And that means something. 

And Nora? He loves her most of all. With her rumbling laughter. With the kindness and the hope she trails behind her wherever she goes. He loves her dancing eyes and the twist of her gentle smile and the feel of her pressed hip to hip with him in the gray light of the coming dawn. He loves her, fiercely, and it is _terrifying_. 

He does not sleep, but he does dream. He dreams of her and he dreams of a life they could have, if they want it. He does. He wants it. He wants her. 

But those are dreams, fantasies spun of gossamer hope. The reality is this. It is Nora, standing, hard and ungiving against the horizon. It is Nora and her steel facade yielding at last to unspeakable grief. It is Nora collapsing and her hands grappling uselessly in the packed dirt and her breath catching in her shattered lungs. 

The reality is this. Watching her fall, watching her and being unable to do anything to ease her pain. It is the wrenching of his heart and the ghost of a memory tightening his throat until he cannot breathe. He has watched her give and give and give of herself, but never take. So he goes to her. He goes because he loves her. He goes because it is time someone was there for her. 

He kneels in the dirt and he reaches for her. He pulls her into his arms and cradles her to his chest. He listens to her breathing and he feels the beat of her heart against him. Just the tick of her pulse to mark the passage of time. She breathes a little easier and there are her hands sliding around his waist. He can’t imagine it is very comfortable for her, but she does it all the same and doesn’t let go. Just holds herself there, as if he’d ever let her go now. 

“Welcome back to the Land of the Living,” he says on a smile. He swears he feels her mouth twist in response. 

“Thank you, Nick,” she says. She means it, he can tell, and it twists something in his chest to hear it. _Thank you_. As if he needed a reason to be there for her. As if anyone did. 

The reality is this. He holds her a little tighter. She lets him. And if he uses it as an excuse to press a kiss to her hair; if he uses it as an excuse to hold her and imagine _more_... Well. Who was there to blame him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Part 2 for this little project. I don't know how long it will be or where it will end, but I'm having fun with it. Thanks so much for all the support guys!!

**Author's Note:**

> Another chapter for these two. I felt like I had to choose a name for the SS, so I went with Nora. Good idea? Bad? I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thank you, as always, for reading. You can check me out on Tumblr at:  
> http://ohhstark.tumblr.com


End file.
